


Relapse

by kangamangus (orphan_account)



Series: All Time is All Time (Klaus/Dave) [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Caretaking, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supportive Dave, Vietnam War, War, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kangamangus
Summary: Old habits die hard, especially when you're right smack in the middle of a war with a chorus of causalities exacerbating a headache that will not go away.Klaus relapses and Dave finds him.





	Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there is drug use in this fic. 
> 
> I kept thinking about Ben's comment about how Dave knew that Klaus was better than his drug habit. I was also struck by the similarities between Klaus' experiences with ghosts and his flashbacks to Vietnam. This fic was the result.

During war, squad dynamics shift far more often than they should. Soldiers are injured and taken away, often indefinitely. Others die and are replaced with another body capable of holding a gun and marching toward death. The ones who live and stay are changed by their wounds, both physical and emotional, as they harden into scars. 

It becomes difficult not to pick at those scars during the gaps between each horrific event, the stretches of time that extend from one firefight to another, so long that soldiers start to go stir crazy, dwelling on their pain because there’s not much else to think about. It’s enough to unsettle any soldier, enough to send them after any measly distraction they can find, if only to keep from hurling themselves at the enemy out of desperation for something, anything to do. 

They are right smack in the middle of monotony right now, on the heels of a failed search and destroy mission, down more men than anyone cares to verbally acknowledge. In the wake of that loss, morale has tanked, and everyone, including the new recruits who have taken up the empty beds, spends their days in quiet solemnity. 

Even Klaus, usually one to respond to boredom with a series of antics that keep the squad occupied just long enough to stave off base camp fever, is touched by the sullen mood of the group. At night, Dave can hear him murmuring in his sleep — a litany of no’s interjected with the occasional name or apology. 

Dave has nightmares, too. Lately he’s been dreaming about Roy, the brother who kept them all in line, the brother who, Dave feels, though he has absolutely no evidence to prove it, spent his last moments looking out for Klaus. 

They decide to venture out as a way to clear their minds, both new recruits and seasoned soldiers piling into a bus and heading to the city. The prospect of having a little fun lightens the mood overall, but Klaus sits in silence, alternating between looking out the window and rubbing his temples. 

“Another headache?” Dave asks him. Klaus has mentioned them a couple of times since getting caught in the same explosion that decorated Dave’s body with shrapnel. 

“Yeaaah.” Klaus stretches out the word and ends it on a lilt. “It’s like I’m being…” he trails off to extend his hands outward from his head, “…screamed from in all directions.” 

Dave bumps his knee against Klaus’ leg. “I get it,” he says, expecting Klaus to return the nudge, or grab his hand, or _something_ , sensory-seeking as Klaus usually is, but he only sighs and leans his head against the window. 

They arrive at a disco, similar to the one all those weeks ago, where he and Klaus shared their first kiss. Klaus perks up a little, starts drinking a little too quickly, but the alcohol eases him into better spirits. Dave joins him. They drink and dance, and as it gets later, Klaus slips away to go to the bathroom and Dave gets to know the new guys in the meanwhile. 

Time passes and Dave realizes he hasn’t seen Klaus in a while. He heads to the bathroom, worrying that the loud music might have worsened Klaus' headache. 

He finds him slumped in a sitting position, eyes shut, head bowed. When Dave says his name and shakes him, Klaus lolls into awareness with a looseness in both limb and consciousness, slowly, like he’s traveling through the thick mud of the battlefield. 

“Dave,” he greets, his tongue as loose as his body, lazily moving his hand in the air in a poor approximation of a greeting. 

Dave’s stomach clenches and for a moment, his brain lags. He shouldn’t be surprised, because he was there for Klaus’ first days — he had been twitchy and fitful, beginning for anything pill-shaped to soothe a deeply set need — and because Klaus always drains alcohol with the fervor of someone who is parched for so much more. 

But he is. He’s surprised, and scared, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

He crouches in front of Klaus, places a hand on his clammy cheek, and looks into his eyes for blown pupils or self-awareness or maybe even a little regret, but all he sees is the glazed look of someone who has successfully removed himself from deep thought. 

“What did you take?” Dave asks him, trying to keep his voice gentle, to hide the alarm that slips into his tone. 

Klaus holds up a small baggy, but of course it isn’t labeled, and of course it’s empty. “Whatever —” He trails off for a long moment before continuing. “I could.” 

“Shit.” Dave hesitates, then stands. Then reaches down to squeeze Klaus’ shoulder. “Don’t move.” 

He finds Cody and José and they crowd in the bathroom together, Cody keeping an eye on the door, José assessing Klaus. “We can’t bring him back until he sobers up some,” José says. 

He’s right. This isn’t the first time a soldier has fucked up, but showing up to base brazenly high would only lead to a dishonorable send-off. 

“What are they gonna do,” Klaus asks in a drawling sing-song of words as he tries to stand. Dave sits beside him and puts a hand on his leg, silently urging him to stay down. “Discharge me? I’m not even... _charged_.” 

They ignore his nonsensical comment. 

“He’s got a few hours before we need to go back,” Cody answers. “Babysitting duty until then. We’ll take turns.” 

Dave wants to be first, but Cody makes him go out and get a drink to relax. He stays with Klaus for a long while, then Dave takes his turn. After a good hour passes, José says he needs a break from the smoke and music. By the time Dave is up again, Klaus is more lucid. 

“I can’t tell you how much I needed that,” he sighs, locating the little baggy on the floor beside him and holding it up with a longing tilt of his head, accompanied by a sigh. “My old friend.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dave asks, concern bleeding into anger at the sight of this flippancy, the absolute lack of remorse — an attitude that negates the hours Dave spent worrying and the sacrifices of his squadmates' one night to relax. 

“I'll tell you what wrong with me." He pauses for effect, or because his brain is still slow to stir. Dave isn't sure which. "I’m coming down,” he finishes with a bubbling chuckle. 

“You wouldn’t be coming down if you didn’t get high in the first place,” Dave snaps. 

Klaus tosses the baggy aside and looks up at Dave, squinting at him. “You’re mad,” he states, as though he’s only realizing this for the first time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad,” he muses. “At me, I mean.” 

“You bet your ass I’m mad,” Dave replies, though he tries to school his tone. “How did you think I’d feel?” 

For a moment, a faraway look eclipses Klaus’ face, like he’s not sure what to do with this information, like he’s a little surprised by Dave’s reaction. Like he expected something else. 

“I didn’t,” he finally answers, “think about that at all.” 

Just like that, Dave’s anger sizzles out and is replaced by a shock of surprise, which soon settles into hurt. “Good to know,” he answers tersely, then turns to leave. 

“Wait!” Klaus calls, scrambling to stand, tripping over himself to grab at Dave’s arm. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just — I needed a little break, Dave, that’s all. I still — ” he waves a hand meaninglessly, but doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” Dave tells him, trying not to think about that empty look Klaus wore a few hours earlier, essentially devoid of everything that makes him _Klaus_. “And all you’ve got to say is you is you didn't think.” 

_About me,_ he adds silently. _About us._

Klaus grows increasingly panicked. His grip tightens and he looks even more clear-headed than he had just a moment earlier. “It’s not like that.” A pause. “ _Dave_ ,” he urges, adamantly, like a prayer. “I see — ghosts. All the time, every where I look. They’re always yelling, and ever since, you know…” he trails off. Dave knows the event he’s talking about: the failed mission, the one that took Roy. “They’ve been so much louder.” 

“You’re not the only one suffering. And you don’t —” Dave falters, takes a breath. “You can't just throw yourself a pity party in a bathroom and _not think_ about what that means for the rest of us." His voice threatens to rise, but he keeps it crisp and controlled. "You can't act like this is no big deal, after we spent all night making sure your ass doesn’t wind up shipped away in shame.” 

He doesn’t know if Klaus processes all of that, because he’s quick to say, “You don’t understand, the ghosts, everyone who’s been killed here—" 

“We all see ghosts, Klaus,” Dave interrupts him. “Me, Cody, José, even Roy did. Every one of us.” 

This statement shocks Klaus into momentary silence. He releases Dave’s arm and wavers on unsteady legs. 

“Really?” he asks, tone rising in surprise. 

It softens Dave. That look — as though Klaus hadn’t even considered that maybe, just maybe, he isn't alone in his pain — reminds Dave of the expression that Klaus wears every time Dave expresses how he feels: surprise, wonder, and a little fear. As though Klaus still has trouble believing that someone cares about him, that he's worthy of being loved. 

“I see Roy every night,” Dave confesses softly. “And every night he asks me why we didn’t look for him.” 

“That’s not really Roy. He’d never act that.” Klaus says it with so much conviction, Dave actually feels a weight of his own lifting, a heaviness he didn’t realize he’s been harboring since they left Roy behind on the broken battlefield. 

“That's not the point,” Dave deflects. “We’re all in this together. We’re suffering through the same shit, we’re seeing the same nightmares. We wake up every morning to what we’ve done, and we dream about it every night. We’re all haunted.” 

“Haunted," Klaus repeats, and laughs. But it isn't a laugh fueled by humor. It's a laugh of new awareness, tinged with self-depreciation. "I never thought of it that way.” He looks exhausted and fully sober all of a sudden, as though his comedown has been accelerated by this conversation. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and now the words sound sincere, openly regretful. 

Dave takes him in his arms. “If it gets bad,” he says as Klaus’ arms, slow to react, make their tentative way around Dave’s body, “Just talk to me.” 

“Okay,” Klaus breathes, the word catching in his throat. “Okay.” 

Later — after Klaus suffers his way through a detox, after he begs and pleads and cries out and brokenly describes his ghosts to Dave, who sits with him through it all — after Klaus gets back to his old antics, rediscovers his quips, returns to bantering — 

He asks Dave, “Why do you keep putting up with me?” 

“Why do you think?” Dave counters. 

Klaus leans in and whispers playfully, “Is it because of my hot body?” 

But Dave stays serious. “It's because I love you.” 

And he sees it again — that look of surprise, of wonder, and a little fear. It passes over Klaus’ face briefly, a quick shuffle of emotions that Dave can see him compartmentalizing. 

“Definitively for my body,” Klaus asserts. 

“Maybe a little of that too,” Dave replies, because it’s okay. They’re going to be okay. They’ll fight their way out of this shithole and they’ll work through their demons — together.

**Author's Note:**

> Drug use was fairly common during the Vietnam War. Here's a [source](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/1032764).


End file.
